“Yes… that’s where the action is! Heart called Napoleon and Josephine as his witnesses.”
“I know, it’s all over the news. The general consensus is that you won that battle.”
“I think so too but, with Heart, you can’t be complacent. You know, Dad,” Yiftach changed the course of the conversation sharply, “about Melody… I don’t think it’s possible.” Yiftach expected his father to voice his opinion, but Max only looked at his son intently above the steam rising from his hot cup of coffee, mindful to remain silent. “It’s not that I don’t like her,” Yiftach continued, “we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, and I feel very good when I’m with her, but I don’t think our relationship can continue.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t know if I can allow it to go on in its presentform.” Max continued looking closely at his son, and Yiftach went on to explain. “Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, Dad. Just look at under what circumstances we met... I’m her boss and also a civil worker and I’m not even sure that our relationship is allowed. We have to keep it secret and it’s ruining the experience. Realistically, neither one of us is thinking of leaving our jobs soon, so I can’t see any real solution to this complicated problem..” He looked at his father and felt that the latter didn’t seem convinced. “Between us, Dad, what is a romantic relationship worth if it is has to be kept under wraps?” Max remained silent and Yiftach went on. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. If I had met Melody under different circumstances, like in a pub for instance, and she wasn’t my subordinate at work, especially in the civil service, it could have been totally different. But things being as they are—when neither of us is planning to leave the office in the foreseeable future—what other option do we have?”
Yiftach waited for his father to say something, anything, in response to the thoughts that he had just shared with him. Max remained silent a short while longer, then said: “That’s pure nonsense. To my sensitive ears, it just sounds like you’re looking for excuses,” he determined, “you’re trying to convince yourself that that’s the situation, and you’re using me as a sounding board.”
“No, Dad, not so, I’m just trying to put some order into this mess.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to? A stranger? An idiot? I know exactly how and what my son is feeling! You are stuck so deep in your own loneliness and you’re so frightened of what might happen if, God forbid, a woman comes along and pulls you out of this pathetic place you’re in, unable to leave your memories of Nicole behind you.”
“There are many things you can say about me, but not that I’m afraid.”
“You aren’t even able to admit it to yourself!” the old man’s face showed disappointment. “You know, when your mother died, I too built a wall of excuses around me. For years I kept telling myself all kinds of stories, and do you know where that led me? Look at me—I’m old. I’m tired. I’m alone. If only I could go back in time, I would change so many things. But, unfortunately, I can’t so… what I can do is to make sure that my son doesn’t repeat my mistakes—yessir, I can certainly do that!”
“Dad, c’mon, what terrible mistakes did you make?”
“It was wrong for me not to try and find a new partner, in that I blamed myself for your mother’s death after Amitai was killed, in that I lived my life as I did, with constant suffering from the never-ending thoughts about what might have been had they not died. And do you know what the root of this mistake was? I am absolutely sure that your mother would have wanted me to find another companion. She would have wanted me to be happy. You know why? Because she loved me!” Yiftach remained silent. “Do you really think that Nicole deserves your sentencing yourself to loneliness and despair? Do you think she deserves all this suffering that you’re wrapped in all the time? If that’s what you think, then I have failed, because I didn’t give you the tools to help you cope with such situations when I raised you.”
“Dad, stop, you didn’t fail in anything.”
“I’m not sure about that. If I can see in you a behavioral pattern similar to my own, then I’ve failed—big time. And besides, sometimes I think that you’re hesitant about Melody only because romantic ties with her now will conflict with the agenda of this trial that you’re conducting against Love.” Yiftach stood up and kissed Max on the forehead. Max relaxed his muscles and tried to calm down.
“Please call the next witness for the defense,” Judge Golan instructed as a matter of course.
A man in his sixties took his place behind the witness stand. He was bald-headed with pale skin and a long, thick, white beard. He had wise and serious eyes.
“Hello, sir, why do you appear so hesitant?” Heart asked him.
“I thank you. Yes, there are many who believe that I am among the greatest of the Renaissance artists.”
Heart seemed confused and, for a moment, he feared that this clumsy witness would fall off the platform to the floor. “Be careful! You’re leaning like the tower of Pisa!” he implored him.
“May I correct you,” the witness said as he regained his balance, “I am not from Pisa, I am from Florence.”
Heart frowned with concern. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to bring him all the way here…’ he mumbled to himself, ‘especially since I did have other options.’
“Absolutely!” the witness replied enthusiastically, “I will gladly answer any question related to my magnificent work—‘The Last Supper.’”
The audience began whispering with excitement upon hearing these words. Now they knew who the peculiar and mysterious stranger was.
“What is your name please?” Heart asked.
“Leonardo.”
“Your family name is da Vinci, yes?”
“Sort of. I never did have a surname, so I was referred to as ‘Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci’ meaning ‘son of Piero from Vinci’—the Tuscan village in which I was born. But ‘da Vinci’ is what everyone calls me, you can call me that too, that’s fine.”
“Okay. And your line of work… you are a painter, correct?”
“Sort of.”
“Again ‘sort of?’”
